


Kohl Eyes, Warm Heart

by ConsultingWriter



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Ancient Egypt, Ancient Egypt, M/M, Older!John, Royal!Sherlock, Servant!John, kind of teen!lock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-18
Updated: 2013-08-18
Packaged: 2017-12-23 23:24:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/932318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConsultingWriter/pseuds/ConsultingWriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is the Pharaoh's second (trouble making) son, who <del>might be </del> is in love with his brother's personal servant John.</p><p> </p><p>  <i>Instead of pointing this out, the word ‘boring’ fell from his lips instead.</i></p><p>  <i>John frowned at him and Sherlock heaved a sigh, he did so hate that look on John’s face, and held out his hands in a silent demand for John to help him up.</i><br/> <br/><i>The servant complied and Sherlock briefly tightened his hands to prevent the blonde haired man from pulling his hands away before loosening his grip and letting his hands fall away completely.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Kohl Eyes, Warm Heart

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for Benedictcumbergasm on tumblr who requested someon write it as a bday present. I'm fairly sure she was hoping someone amazing would write it for her, but she got me instead. ^.^ 
> 
> I don't know much about Ancient Egyot except for mummies, pyramids and the Pharaoh, its suprisingly hard to find information on things like how his children (outside of his heir) were treated and such, so.

Goats and pigs raced through the marketplace, forcing the merchants and market goers to dive out of their way. Above the chaos, preached gracefully on the edge of a low building, sat an oddly fair skinned youth; grey eyes rimmed in heavy black kohl while the lids were tinted with a heavy mix of blue and green, while wild black curls were tugged gently by the heated breeze that blew through the city.

 A smirk pulled at the youth’s lightly painted lips as he watched the stampeding animals run wild through the maze of stalls. Dark henna decorated the young boy’s skin in intricate patterns, running from his fingertips, up his arms and around his shoulders before snaking down, curling around his chest and hips, disappearing under his white linen tunic before continuing to his legs and feet. His upper arms and wrists were adorned with heavy gold bands, indicating his family’s wealth.

The youth’s attention was pulled away from the mess he’d created when a sharp, “Prince Sherlock!”

The smirk widened but he forced it down before he turned to look. The golden-skinned—and golden haired—servant was muscular and well-dressed in a linen cloth of high quality, and copper bangles adorned each wrist. The studs that pierced the servant’s ears, however, were gold. His blue eyes were unadorned by anything but a thin line of black kohl.

“John,” the youth, Sherlock, acknowledged with a cocked eyebrow.

The servant was several years older than the young second Prince, and had been his brother’s—Mycroft—personal servant for as long as Sherlock could remember. And that burned Sherlock to his very soul, the fact that his fat, lazy, brother had someone as unique as John—a young healer-cum-soldier turned servant who Sherlock often blasphemously compared, in the sanctuary of his own mind, to the Goddess Isis; surely someone so good must be a descendent of the protector and friend of the weak and strong alike, of the Goddess who taught her followers the art of healing.   

The older male sighed “The Pharaoh is ill, Prince Sherlock, your brother will soon take his place and neither have the time to be worrying about you ruining the market place getting into trouble and causing your usual mischief; especially today,” the older man scolded lightly but his tone was almost fond.  

Sherlock almost sneered; ‘especially today,’ how droll. Another boring festival, what a waste of time.

He was unsure as to why the servant was even bothering to lecture him about letting the animals loose. After all, today’s escapadehad all been to catch the servant’s attention—he did so hate it when John’s attention was on something besides him, as it had been the past few days; Sherlock never knew he could hate something more than boredom until his mother hired a new servant named Mary. The servant girl had set her eyes on becoming John’s wife the moment she laid eyes on him; she would burn before that happened, if Sherlock had anything to say about it. In fact, it was her interference that had distracted John—who had long ago been instructed to keep an eye on him by Mycroft (it enraged him, just a bit, the knowledge that Mycroft was the one John answered to, that the only reason John was with him was because his brother was an interfering arse) after the blonde finished all his daily duties—long enough for the youth to even succeed in pulling his latest stunt.

His attention was pulled away from his thoughts by a cleared throat and a pointed look. Sherlock rolled his kohl-lined eyes.

It wasn’t like this was the most dangerous thing he’d ever done—that would probably be sneaking into a foreign diplomat’s guarded campground to steal a golden, jewel-threaded anklet, he was almost killed that time; would have been beheaded if not for John—or the most damaging to property—he’d once set fire to a palace’s throne room by accident, John had taken care of him then as well, quickly putting the fire out and taking the blame for the blaze in the first place (which earned the slave a brutal whipping).

Instead of pointing this out, the word ‘boring’ fell from his lips instead.

John frowned at him and Sherlock heaved a sigh, he did so hate that look on John’s face, and held out his hands in a silent demand for John to help him up.

The servant complied and Sherlock briefly tightened his hands to prevent the blonde haired man from pulling his hands away before loosening his grip and letting his hands fall away completely.

It wasn’t fair, the youth fumed silently as he brushed past the older male—who followed a few steps behind silently—and strode across the roof, he loved John, silently and from afar, but he loved the man nonetheless, not that the idiotic servant would ever know—Sherlock had always been fond of telling the blonde that he saw but didn’t observe, but the blonde’s obliviousness about Sherlock’s feelings for him was just ridiculous. The prince doubted that the servant would ever return his feelings anyway. Sherlock was young and inexperienced—both were things that he’d been told were appealing in submissive lovers—yes, but he was also dark and cold in ways that someone as warm hearted and _good_ as John wouldn’t understand or want to stay around.

Sherlock was so lost in thought that he never saw the stray donkey—which had been let loose during the stampede of pigs and goats—charging at him blindly and wasn’t aware that he was in its way until it was already trampling over him.

He lay on the dirt path, hurting and confused, and blinked at the sky. Before he could make a move, strong arms slid under his knees and back and heaved him into the air. He was cradled against a strong chest before he could protest and any sound that he’d been building in his throat died down at the shock of being so close to John. Like this, cradled carefully to the servant’s broad chest, he could tell himself that John felt the same way about him as he felt about John.

Sherlock stayed quiet as John carried him towards the palace, content to trade a night a freedom—he didn’t understand why he needed to go to yet another festival, it wasn’t even an important one—for the chance to held so close the strong blonde servant. He was sure that John would see to his wounds later— washing his henna away and smoothing creams and oils into his injured skin before gently and carefully brushing the intricate designs back onto his skin—and he would give much more than a single evening at a dull festival for that.

**_End_ **

**Author's Note:**

> Don't forget to reveiw.
> 
> Also, check out my tumblr NoSwordsForLittleDragons.tumblr.com becuase I'm posting a new series there in which werewolf!John is forced to keep an online journal, so entries from that are being posted there as well as short drabbles that I'm not going to be posting here.


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